


Winterfell is ours

by sansaswildlinglover



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I'm Sorry, Inspired by the new HBO promo, and then suddenly it's not anymore, show verse, this gets really fluffy and corny at some point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 06:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/pseuds/sansaswildlinglover
Summary: Perhaps it was her coarse choice of language, he'd muse later. Perhaps it was the way her nostrils flared or the way she jutted her chin out. Maybe it was the way her bottom lip quivered or the flash in her eyes he couldn't identify. In that moment, Jon certainly couldn't tell. Maybe it was the mere fact she kept bringing that up.First kiss. Pre-parentage reveal.





	Winterfell is ours

Sansa's eyes were thawing. Jon could tell she was almost there. Trust and logic were conquering the anger and pain inside of her, but the rigid set of her mouth betrayed that there was still something holding her back from taking that leap.

"I did what I had to do in order for all of us to survive. I did it for the North, for our people, for you," he told her, deciding to be dangerously honest. 

She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed: "Are you really trying to flatter me?"

He took a step closer to her, holding his hand out, as if physical closeness would make her understand better, might make her believe him. "With every decision I made, I was always thinking about you."

"Were you thinking about me when you fucked her?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Perhaps it was her coarse choice of language, he'd muse later. Perhaps it was the way her nostrils flared or the way she jutted her chin out. Maybe it was the way her bottom lip quivered or the flash in her eyes he couldn't identify. In that moment, Jon certainly couldn't tell. Maybe it was the mere fact she kept bringing that up.

He snapped. "Why do you even care so much about that?" Jon heard himself roaring.

"I don't," she retorted, whirling away from him.

He followed her and reached for her wrist, making her twist around again to face him. Her breath hitched, but she stared right back at him. Her eyes had been ice before, but now they were burning.

"Why?" he repeated.

"No, you tell me why," she threw his question back at him, and her breath fanning out over his face made him aware how close he'd pulled her to his own body. His eyes dropped to his fingers where they were wrapped around her wrist. 

He released her. "I'm sorry," he said, nodding at her hand. 

She snatched it back and balled it against her chest. "Why did you do it?"

He wasn't even sure he could put all of his reasons into words for himself, let alone voice them to her. "I think she loves me," he started. "I thought it would help." It sounded incredibly stupid when he said it out loud.

To his surprise, she laughed. Not a sharp or bitter laugh, but a real one, a giggle she tried to hide behind a hand.

He took a step back in defense, narrowing his eyes at her. 

"Of course you would," she sniggered, and then they were both laughing together.

Suddenly he was holding her in his arms and they were cheek to cheek. He closed his eyes and let it happen, giving in to this rare moment of comfort, and he felt the exhaustion settling in his bones. How could he not be tired? He'd only been home for a couple of hours, but it felt as if it had been days.

It had taken a while, but once they'd found themselves alone in her solar, she'd started hurling questions and insults at him. He'd known to expect that, but it still hurt. Her tone brought back memories of the day he'd betrayed Ygritte and she'd shot him full of arrows.

They'd raged at each other while he tried to make her see, as he searched for the words to explain his decisions, and for the first time in weeks he'd felt oddly alive.

Now he felt smaller, deflated somehow, and still slightly breathless from their argument.  _This isn't over,_ the voice inside his head warned him, but for now it was. For now it might be enough if he just shared a simple truth with her: "I missed you," he whispered, his voice rough and scraping his throat.

Sansa made the slightest move to lean her forehead against his and whispered back: "I missed you too." The tip of her nose grazed the bridge of his and he found himself leaning in, feeling her exhale against his lips.

He opened his eyes to already find her staring at him. He lowered his eyes to find her licking her lips and quickly glanced back up. Their eyes locked and he lingered there, not sure whether he was trying to tell her something or looking for an answer in those blue depths. The sharp edges of her eyes finally softened and her eyelashes fluttered, drawing his attention to the blush that had risen on her cheeks.

"Stop looking at me like that," she told him.

"Like what?" he asked,

"Like— she swallowed and licked her lips— Like I'm some precious thing you're afraid to lose." Her words melted on his lips, and he closed the final distance between them, trying to chase the flavour of their warmth, and then he was pressing the lightest of kisses to her lips.

His hands travelled up until he was cupping her face and her own came to rest over his collarbones. When she kissed him back, his fingers slid into her hair, and their noses bumped together. Both of their lips parted on a soft shared huff and he slanted his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss. 

She responded eagerly, digging her fingers into the leather of his jerkin, releasing a surprised little gasp. His heart was enveloped in a warm embrace and his stomach fluttered, as if he was a boy again, and yet this was the moment he finally felt like a man again. And then he remembered.

"Sansa," he whispered as he pulled away, still softly stroking her hair. "We shouldn’t, this is wrong."

"Is it?" she wondered aloud, making no effort to disentangle herself. "What other men have done to me, that was wrong. What you  _had_ to do, that was wrong." 

"I  _am_ wrong." _I’m a lustful bastard._  "I shouldn’t even be alive. I— _how could he not be wrong wanting this and even worse, acting on it?_

She finally pulled away. "So, what is my excuse then? What’s wrong with me?"

He shook his head. "Nothing’s wrong with you, sweetheart." He threw his hands up, looking for an explanation. "You’ve just been hurt so badly. And you’re so desperate for—  _love,_ he wanted to say, but he wouldn't, so he left it unspoken— but I’m not the answer you’re looking for," he concluded, lowering his eyes. 

Her arms came up to hug her frame and he saw her mask slipping in place over her face again, none of the soft warmth that had been there moments before remaining.

"Maybe you are, maybe you're not," she shrugged. "But there's no time for any of that now, is there? This only complicates things."

He could only nod as his shoulders sagged, and he suddenly felt thrice his real age.

She took a deep breath and smoothed out her skirts. "We'd better get back to work."

"Aye," he agreed, and by the time they stepped out into the hallway, he couldn't be sure it hadn't all been a dream. 


End file.
